Revenge
by hyperpsychomaniac
Summary: Christophe finds his way back to the Saint Nazaire, but he brings along someone he really shouldn't have. Someone who has it in mind to make Cortes pay for something he did a long time ago.
1. Chapter 1

**A/n: **Please excuse the absolutely awful and thoughtless title. I couldn't think of anything and wanted to start getting this posted. If you can think up a better one... review me.

* * *

Christophe waved his arms above his head at the sight of his brother. "Hey, Aran!"

Cortes let out a huff from deep in his throat. Christophe was waving wildly as the other ship pulled up beside the Saint Nazaire, caring little for what anyone else might think of his excitement. Cortes was far more reserved. To tell the truth he wasn't exactly sure what to think of his brother's return. He certainly didn't feel as hostile towards him as he had the last time Christophe had showed up, and he had it in the back of his mind to make sure he didn't appear hostile. Of course, he didn't want to be jumping up and down and waving his arms like Christophe was either.

The other ship was now right along side the Saint Nazaire, and put out a boarding ramp. A part of Cortes' mind observed this ship. Who were they? Christophe had taken them right up to the Saint Nazaire. It wasn't a Sphere ship. And Cortes was fairly sure Christophe wasn't in charge of it; he had probably just hitched a lift. Cortes shifted nervously. The ship looked newer than the Saint Nazaire, sleeker, and probably faster. It was difficult to tell how much weaponry was held on it. If it had much, it was probably designed to minimise their appearance, thereby keeping the overall sleek shape. But Christophe wouldn't intentionally bring a dangerous ship so close, Cortes was sure of this, whatever doubts he'd had about his brother in the past. It was the unintentional, and his brother's far too blasé approach to the risk it might bring that worried him.

The Captain of the Saint Nazaire didn't get to think about the other ship for long though. The two ships had connected, and within seconds Christophe had made his way across to his brother.

The last time they'd met, Christophe had asked Cortes for a hug, and this he realised had been a mistake. This time, he wasn't even going to give him the option. "Aran!" Christophe ploughed into the other man, wrapping his arms around his neck in a big bear hug.

"Chris…" Cortes got out before the air was knocked out of him. He flailed, managed to get a hold of Christophe's arms and pull him off.

"I told you I'd come back, didn't I?" Christophe grinned.

Cortes sighed. "Yeah, I guess you did…" So what was he supposed to do now? Apologise for last time? Christophe had risked his life to save him and his crew. He and his brother didn't always get along, but Cortes knew he'd probably been far too harsh last time.

"Now come on, don't just stand there! Are you glad to see me or not?" Christophe took a step back, waiting. Despite all his bluster he wasn't stupid. He knew Cortes' feelings for him weren't exactly all warm and fuzzy. He was waiting, hoping to see that some of that had changed.

Cortes sighed, letting his gaze drop to the floor. "Yeah, I'm glad to see you."

Christophe smiled, and slapped Cortes on the back. "Thanks. A little more enthusiasm wouldn't go astray though…"

Cortes glared at him.

"Kidding!" Christophe held up his hands.

"Who's your friend?" Cortes asked, nodding over at the other ship, and the man standing on the deck there. As well as wanting to find out as much as he could about this other ship, he really just wanted to change the subject. Perhaps the words he really wanted to say to Christophe would come later.

"That's Tristan. Turns out he was looking for you too, so I hitched a lift…"

"Wait, what?" Cortes turned to his brother, his nervousness over the other ship spiking up into fear. "Why!?"

"Relax, he's just…"

"Why'd you bring a warship looking for me straight to the Saint Nazaire!?"

"Aran, calm down. He's trustworthy, trust me…"

"You'd better be sure…"

"Positive…" said Christophe. Still, the tiniest shred of doubt, awoken by his brother's reaction, played at his mind. He glanced over his shoulder at the other ship.

A glint off metal caught his eye, and Christophe was suddenly alert as he realised what the man he'd trusted held in his hand. Pointed directly at Cortes.

Christophe shifted his body, just as a loud bang rang out in the skies.

Cortes looked across at the direction of the sound. He saw the gun in the man's hands, a thin tendril of smoke coming from the barrel as he lowered it. He looked down at the front of his body. Nothing…

Christophe let out a moan and sunk to his knees.

"Christophe!" Cortes dropped down beside him, catching him with an arm around the front of his body before he could topple. A patch of blood was spreading from beneath the hand Christophe clutched to the front of his jacket.

----

Over on the other ship, the man lowered the gun, as a smile touched the edges of his lips. "You idiot, Christophe. I was aiming for the ship."

Tristan turned, heading back into the bridge of his own ship. It'd do him little good if the pirates retaliated and shot him out on the deck. There was no doubt in his own mind he could take the Saint Nazaire down now. But then, where was the fun in that? No, the pirate ship itself would not be enough.

Aran Cortes hadn't stopped at taking away just his crew. He'd been responsible for the deaths of nearly everyone on his bloc. Why only take his ship away from him? No, Tristan thought to himself as he re-entered his bridge, he would follow the Saint Nazaire all the way home. Cortes would feel the same pain he had felt.

All he'd needed was some fool to lead him to the Saint Nazaire. The Saint Nazaire would lead him the rest of the way. All that was left now was to hunt her down.

----

"Wayan, Dahlia, get us out of here, _now_!" Cortes' order rang out across the bridge. His crew looked back at him, hearing the note of desperation in his voice.

Cortes stood in the door to the bridge, Christophe's arm slung over his shoulder as he supported most of the other man's weight.

Christophe was still conscious, and making an effort to support himself, but was having trouble.

"What happened?" asked the Vector.

"What do you think; he's hurt!" Cortes growled. "I said get us out of here!" he shouted at his crew, who weren't quite doing things fast enough for his liking.

Dahlia and Wayan were already at the forward controls, and the Saint Nazaire surged forward suddenly.

"I'm fine, really," said Christophe, attempting to push his brother off a bit and support himself.

"No," said the Vector, looking down at where Christophe clutched his belly, "I don't think you are. Cortes, you'd better get him to sit down." The Vector himself went to the back of the bridge, and pulled out a medical kit from a small locker.

Cortes led Christophe to one of the benches near the back, and helped him sit down there.

"Aran, you don't… grah…"

"Steady. Just let the Vector look at you…" said Cortes, trying to keep his voice from shaking. What the hell had that man shot at him? An energy weapon could do a lot of damage, but it didn't normally leave that much of a mess. The front of Christophe's jacket was soaked in blood. It could have been himself like this… only his brother had stepped in the way. Even after how Cortes had treated him. First he'd blown up his ship, now he'd gotten himself shot. _Why does he care about me so much? And why can't I find it within myself to love him back?_

The Vector pulled out a medical scanner from the kit, turned it on, and waved it in front of where Christophe grasped his jacket.

Christophe leaned back against his brother, trying to steady his breathing.

"It's a bullet…" said the Vector, raising an eyebrow at the scanners readouts.

"Obviously…" Cortes growled.

"No, I mean a _real_ bullet," the Vector clarified. "Not a bit of energy, a _metal_ bullet…"

"Oh, joy…" muttered Christophe, perhaps looking a little paler.

"Why would they want to use a metal bullet?" said Cortes. "They're practically obsolete!"

"Not to mention… argh… quite painful," Christophe added.

"I suppose it depends on what you can get your hands on…" mused the Vector.

"Is he going to be okay, or not?" Cortes snapped.

The Vector looked at the scanner again. "I think you were lucky, Christophe. I don't think it hit anything vital. If we can stop the bleeding, I think you can easily hang on until we get you back to Puerto Angel and get it out."

"What you're going to leave it in?" said Christophe.

"It can't do anymore damage just sitting there, and I'm no doctor. It's best to wait until we get back to Puerto Angel."

"Unless you _want_ us to take it out now," said Cortes. "We just can't knock you out. There's no anaesthesia on board; at the moment Puerto Angel has little enough as it is. I couldn't justify taking a full complement of medical supplies with us, of course, if I knew…"

"Ah… I'll be fine…" said Christophe with a slight smile.

Cortes bristled at the smirk. "Aye, the Vector's right, you're lucky. What'd you go and get in the way for!? You're lucky it didn't hit anything more important!"

Christophe smiled again. "That's _why_ I got in the way, little brother."

Cortes opened his mouth, but couldn't think of a retort. He shut it and looked down at the floor. Now he was being a jerk again.

"Just let me look after him, Cortes," said the Vector. "You take care of the ship. Get us back to Puerto Angel."

Cortes nodded, and stood up. "Alright."

"There might be a bit of a problem with that," said Wayan. "That ship? It's following us. And they seem pretty intent on keeping up."

"Then loose them!" Cortes snapped.

"I've been trying. But I think it's a pretty safe bet their ship is faster than the Saint Nazaire. Maybe only marginally, but they _are_ faster."

"The weird thing is…" Dahlia added, "is that they're not attacking. They're well within firing range, but they don't look like they want to attack."

"You're right," said Wayan. "They're just… keeping up."

Cortes scowled. "Alright then…" He paused at the centre console, leaning over Cheng's shoulder as he peered at the map there. "Well, if they're not prepared to fight, I'm not going to start one. If we're not out powered, we're certainly out gunned." He thought for a moment before stepping back to the rear of the ship. "Christophe…?"

"Yeah?" Christophe had his jacket off now, and the Vector had started bandaging him up. Christophe looked a little bit more uncomfortable now, like the wound was starting to get to him.

Cortes softened. He tried to keep the tension out of his voice. There was no sense yelling at his brother. "The Captain of this ship, do you think he knew the area well? How well did he fly the ship?"

Christophe thought for the briefest of moments. "Alright, I guess. It was just him. No crew. He was relying heavily on the ship's technology. You have to, a ship that size if you have no crew. It isn't an easy thing to do, trust me."

"Maybe that's why he's not attacking?" Dahlia suggested.

"Maybe," Cortes admitted. "So we have a crew and that might be the only advantage we've got…" he moved back to Cheng's screen. "Dahlia, Wayan, I want you to take us here…" He touched a point on the central consoles screen, and it was relayed to the two pilots.

"We'll have to be careful…" said Dahlia, observing her screen. "There's thick fog, and manoeuvrers will be tight."

Cortes had now come to stand on the ship's wheelhouse, grasping the large wheel in his hands. "I know. We're going to try to lose him." He glanced over his shoulder briefly at his brother, and then turned his gaze back forwards before Christophe, or anyone else, could see the movement. Christophe was awake and alert, which was always a good sign, but Cortes could tell he wasn't feeling too good. The sooner he got him back to Puerto Angel and proper medical treatment, the better. The only problem being he couldn't lead that other ship back to Puerto Angel. They would have to loose it first. No one man's comfort, or even his life, could come before protecting that bloc. But that didn't mean he was comfortable with putting off getting help for his brother. _It should've been me._ Cortes shook his head, dissolving the thought, and looked forward and squared his shoulders. He would concentrate on the task at hand. He had to lose that ship.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sir, we're coming on quadrant 32…" said Dahlia. "It's going to get a little rougher…"

"Good…"

They had travelled for nearly an hour, the other ship still on their tail. It hadn't hailed, attacked, or moved closer. Now the Saint Nazaire was approaching a massive cloud bank. It was difficult to see from this distance but inside there were many blocs of varied sizes. If you didn't know what you were doing, it'd be very easy to damage your ship. This was what Cortes was counting on.

"Take us in as fast as you can handle," Cortes said. "Just don't let us get caught in any tight places." _That's what we want them to do._

The Saint Nazaire disappeared into the cloud bank, and everything dimmed. The bridge's automatic lighting came on.

"Could somebody turn those off?" Cortes growled. "And shut down the ship's visibility lights too."

The lights dimmed again. Visibility was now low, but it was still possible to see.

"The other ship is still following us…" said Cheng, looking out the rear windows. Dim lights could be seen through the clouds. "He's leaving his lights on."

"Doesn't seem bothered if we know where he is, hmm?" muttered Cortes. He peered ahead through the gloom.

"There's a large bloc off to port!" Wayan warned, seconds before Cortes saw it.

The Saint Nazaire banked, moving around the bloc. The other ship's lights could be seen following.

"Not too fast…" Cortes warned.

"It might be gaining…" said Cheng.

"Come on…" Cortes muttered, looking ahead. He had to find the right setup of blocs to loose the other ship on. She was moving faster than the Saint Nazaire now, which was what he wanted. But let her do that for too long and she'd catch up.

A large bloc loomed ahead.

"Woah!" said Dahlia. They were so close upon it they had barely seconds to react.

"Take us down!" Cortes ordered. "As hard as you can!"

The Saint Nazaire banked downwards. The large bloc loomed so close that Cortes felt his heart catch in his throat. Then it swept up and above them as the ship dropped.

"Is that ship following!?" Cortes demanded.

"I'm not sure," said Cheng. "I can't see any lights anymore."

"Alright, evasive manoeuvrers. I don't want him able to guess where we went."

----

Tristan slowed down his ship the Force Majeure, frowning as the bloc loomed before him. He'd come to a full stop to avoid a collision, and now he'd have to back up to get around it. He couldn't see the Saint Nazaire anymore.

Still, Tristan did not appear worried in the least. He simply threw the ship in reverse, and performed the manoeuvre, and then continued on. He seemed very sure of his course, despite no ship showing on any of his sensors.

----

For the next half hour, the Saint Nazaire darted around in quadrant 32. They didn't see the other ship for any of this time, nor pick it up again on their sensors.

Eventually, Cortes seemed to calm down. They _had_ to have lost it. Even with superior systems, it should be unable to track them through the thick clouds and high density blocs. Even a Sphere ship with the latest sensors would have certainly lost them after only ten to fifteen minutes.

"Alright, set a course for Puerto Angel. But not a direct route. And stay alert."

"Aye, sir," Dahlia and Wayan both replied.

Cortes sighed, and stepped down from the wheelhouse. He looked towards the back of the ship. Christophe seemed half asleep, and the Vector seemed to be between keeping an eye on him and watching something going on on Cheng's screen.

"Is he doing alright?"

"I think so," the Vector smiled. "He'll be fine once we get back to Puerto Angel."

"Good…" Cortes lowered his voice. "I just… I can't believe he took that bullet for me. And the Callisto… I'd just been blaming him and acting like a jerk the whole time he was here…"

"Too right…"

Cortes nearly jumped at the sound of his brother's voice. "Damn it Christophe… I thought you were asleep."

"Yeah, I'm having a little trouble sleeping," Christophe sighed. He pushed himself to a sitting position, and shuddered.

Cortes sighed, and bounded back up the back of the ship. "You should lie back down."

"Like I said, I can't sleep. Besides, since when do you care so much?"

"Since you went and got yourself shot," Cortes retorted.

"Ah… so that's all it takes. You should've told me sooner, and we could've avoided all this unnecessary bickering."

Cortes sighed. "Bickering?! You betrayed… never mind, forget it."

Christophe sighed, and shook his head. "If you haven't figured it out yet, that wasn't my intention."

Cortes stared down at the floor. He still felt a twinge of anger, but nothing like he'd felt for his brother over the years. He didn't want to be angry at him anymore, even just a little. Christophe couldn't have really meant to betray the rebels, not after what he'd done for Cortes since. That didn't stop it hurting that he'd left at Ronston, but should he really still be angry at him for that? "Christophe, I'm sorry, alright? I'm not mad at you anymore. Maybe I shouldn't have been in the first place… maybe I should have just trusted you. I know you weren't trying to hurt the rebellion."

Christophe seemed startled for a brief moment. "I… well, I did know what I was doing…"

"Well if you did, you could've told me. And I couldn't figure it out, and you never told me! I didn't know _what_ was going on, Christophe!" He lowered his voice. Cheng and the Vector looked like they were trying to keep busy with their work, but they could probably still hear. "I was in charge of that fleet when you left, do you have any idea how that looked!?"

"I _couldn't_ tell you, Aran. Okay, so I made you look bad in front of all those pirates, fine. I'm sorry! But do you know how much trouble you would've been in if you'd known?"

"Aye, actually, yes. I was _interrogated_ for hours over whether I knew or not! And when I'd finally convinced them I still had to put up with the insinuation I couldn't control a fleet… I mean, I couldn't even control my own brother! Why should I be put in charge of a whole fleet again?"

"That wasn't… my fault…"

"Yeah, guess you never thought about it, huh?" Cortes snapped. Now he was angry again. Why had he apologised?

"Cortes…" the Vector said. He'd walked back to the two brothers.

"What?" Cortes snapped.

"Maybe you should let Christophe rest."

Cortes glanced over at Christophe. He seemed paler, and was visibly shaking.

"I'm fine, really…"

Cortes sighed. He'd gotten so angry he hadn't noticed. "At least lie down and keep quiet." He stood and stomped back to the front of the bridge. At the moment, Christophe didn't need him around fighting with him, and that was all he felt like saying to him right now.

"He's right, Christophe," said the Vector. "Lie back down."

Cortes took the Saint Nazaire's steering wheel in his hands and gripped it tightly. Dahlia and Wayan had full control of the ship, so he didn't need to do anything. But at least it gave his hands something to do.

"Cortes?" said Cheng.

"Yeah?" Cortes replied, only half looking over his shoulder in an attempt to avoid looking at Christophe.

"I'm not sure if it's important or not… but I've been getting this weird signal. Like the Saint Nazaire's sending it… only it's not. It's faint and intermittent…"

The Vector glanced over the boy's shoulder. "Are you sure it's not just background noise from the Saint Nazaire's systems?"

"Could be, I suppose… that's what I thought at first…"

Cortes huffed, turned back to face forward and shook his head. Nothing. Just fluctuating energy signatures of no interest to anyone but little boys and washed up geographical engineers with nothing better to do with their time.

"Captain…" said Wayan, interrupting his thoughts.

"Yes, Wayan?"

"There's a ship on our sensors. I think it's the Force Majeure."

"What?! I thought we lost them!" Cortes snarled.

"We _did_!" said Dahlia. "He's coming up fast, so we must have…"

"He's paused, Sir," said Wayan. "Some distance away, and probably just on the edge of our sensor range. I think he may be doing what he did before… following at a distance only this time further away…"

"I've had it with this guy!" Cortes snarled. "Open a channel to his ship!" He pounded a fist into the screen next to his Captain's chair. "This is Cortes of the Saint Nazaire. I want you to take your over-endowed ship, turn it around, and stop following us! Either that, or you can quit hiding back there and answer for what you did to my brother!"

"Cortes… we probably shouldn't fight him if we don't have to…" warned the Vector.

"Oh, he doesn't have to fight if he doesn't want to. I'd just like him to give me the decency of saying what gripe he has with me to my face," Cortes snapped, fully intentionally leaving the channel open.

There was a brief burst of static, and then Tristan appeared on the screen.

"Ah, so you can see me back here. I honestly thought the sensors on that piece of junk couldn't reach this far. I'm impressed. So… you wanted to talk then?"

"I want you to leave, that's what I want. But I'll settle for talking for now. You shot my brother, and now you're making a very great effort to follow my ship…"

"I wasn't aiming for your brother, if that's any consolation. In fact, I'm rather grateful to him, I couldn't have found you without him."

"Which brings me to my next question. Just why were you trying to shoot me?"

Tristan smiled, and then chuckled briefly. "You don't remember me, do you?"

"Should I?!"

"Maybe not. I was younger then, and it was a few years back. Perhaps you remember my bloc. Its name was Andorra. Ring any bells?"

Cortes paused. "Andorra was destroyed years ago. The Sphere launched a raid because they were supplying weapons to the rebellion; they burnt it to the ground."

"The Sphere, huh? Yeah, okay, the Sphere were the ones who burnt everything, but who was suppose to protect it? Huh, Cortes? Whose ship was closest when they launched the attack?"

Cortes bristled. "We were on an important mission. The _Behemoth_ came to your aid…"

"They didn't come in time! Not for my family! And you have the mordacity to hound me for shooting your brother by accident! Oh no, Cortes. You're not going to get off that easily!" Tristan slammed a palm on his console, and the line went dead.

"You're kidding me!" Cortes snarled, slamming a hand into the railing. He hit it again. "Damn it!"

"He has no right to blame you for what happened on Andorra, Cortes," said the Vector.

"_I_ know that!" Cortes snapped. "You know that! _He_ doesn't!"

"So he wants to kill you?" said Cheng sounding nervous. "Then why hasn't he attacked the Saint Nazaire? He's got the firepower…"

Cortes shook his head. "I don't think he wants to kill me… not right away anyway…"

"Capture you then?" Dahlia asked.

"He would have probably still attacked already. No…"

"He wants what you took from him, Aran," said Christophe. "He's following you… I think he intends on following you all the way back to Puerto Angel. In that warship."

Cortes squeezed his eyes shut briefly. "Aye. But I'm not going to lead him there. He's a fool to think I will."

"We must be careful, Cortes," said the Vector. "Thinking you'd just lead him back is foolish, yes. But it's _very_ foolish… I don't think we can count on Tristan being that naive."

"But how could he find us after we lost him like that… he must have just been lucky! We'll lose him, again, but this time we'll make sure there's no way he can find us again… even if his sensors are better than the Sphere's!"

"If that's our approach, may I suggest we take him on a trip through the Badlands," said Wayan. "It's a maze in there, even more so than sector 32, but with the Vector's maps we'll be alright. There's no way Tristan will be able to find us again if we loose him."

"So… how long is that going to take?" Christophe asked tentatively.

Cortes glanced back up the back. "You need to get some sleep, Christophe. We'll get back to Puerto Angel as soon as we can."

"Yeah, I know," he smiled. "Don't rush on my account… I mean that seriously."

Cortes nodded. "Go to sleep." He turned back to the front of the ship. "Dahlia, Wayan, take us to the Badlands."


	3. Chapter 3

Five hours later, and the Saint Nazaire was floating through the dark regions of the Badlands. It was night time, but the Badlands always seemed to be dark as they were constantly under storm clouds. Lightning lit up the sky, silhouetting seemingly thousands of blocs previously invisible to the naked eye. It was windy, but there was no rain. It hardly rained in the Badlands, despite all the storm activity, and most of the rock was bare.

Cortes stood outside the Saint Nazaire's bridge, the wind whipping up his hair, staring out behind the Saint Nazaire, as if he could somehow see the Force Majeure before the ship's sensors did.

The Vector stepped out behind him.

"How's Christophe?" Cortes asked, before the Vector could say anything.

"He fell asleep earlier for about three hours before. But he seems to be awake again."

Cortes huffed.

"He's not doing it on purpose, you know. I think he's really in pain."

"Or course he is. The sooner we get back to Puerto Angel the better… that being said… there's no way that ship could still be following us…"

"Cortes, that's what I came to talk to you about. I'm worried that ship doesn't just keep appearing because of our bad luck. You know we'd thought we'd lost it earlier, and then it briefly appeared on our sensors _again._"

"And we haven't seen it again for the last three hours, Vector."

"I think that's plenty of time for Tristan to figure out just how far our sensors reach, and stay out of their range. Cortes, Cheng's found something and I think you should come and see."

Cortes sighed, nodded, and stepped back onto the bridge after the Vector.

"You know that weird signal I said I was getting earlier?" said Cheng when the two had entered the bridge.

The Vector came and stood over his shoulder, peering at the screen.

"Well, it seemed like it was very faint at first, like just background noise from the bridge systems. But then I played with it a bit and I isolated if from the rest of the bridge systems," said Cheng.

"We've got other things to worry about than errant signals," Cortes snapped. "I don't know how that ship found us again, but we've lost it now…"

"Cortes, did you ever think _how_ the Force Majeure may have found us again?"

"Luck. I had hoped…"

"Cortes," said Cheng. "That signal isn't just one of our systems. It only 'sounds' like it is, until you isolate it. But it is coming from somewhere on the Saint Nazaire, and I'm pretty sure it's on the bridge."

"Can you tell where it might be coming from in anymore detail?" the Vector asked.

"No…"

"So, what is it?" Cortes snapped.

The Vector looked over Cheng's shoulder again, checking the readings on the screen one last time. "I can't tell for certain, but under the circumstances I find it obvious. Cortes, it's a tracking signal masked to seem like nothing of importance. But I have no doubt a ship that knew exactly what it was scanning for could pick it up over greater distances than standard sensors. That's how Tristan has been following us. He's directly tracking us."

Cortes went rigid. Suddenly, it was obvious to him why the faint signal they'd been picking up for the past few hours was so important.

"We need to find it then," said Dahlia. "If that ship is tracking something on the bridge, once we get rid of it he might not be able to find us again."

"How'd they get something on the bridge though?" Cheng asked.

Cortes and the Vector both turned to Christophe.

Christophe had just sat up, having heard most of the conversation, and held up his hands. "Hey, I wouldn't bring something on here I knew had a tracking device on it…"

Cortes sighed. "It's not what you knew about we're worried about." He walked up the back of the ship, and sat down next to his brother. "Did they give you anything that might have a tracking device in it?"

Christophe shook his head. "Nope…" He frowned, and pushed a hand into one of his pockets, fished around for a second, and pulled out a bit of fluff. "Nothing."

"Wait…" said the Vector. He snatched the medical scanner from the edge of Cheng's console, brought it over to Christophe, and pushed it in front of the bandage around his belly.

"What are you…" started Christophe. Then he stopped, swallowed hard and gripped the edge of the bench. "Oh…"

"Wait," Cortes snapped. "It's not…" He stood up and walked across to the opposite side of the bridge, keeping his back to Christophe. "No, no, no…"

The scanner beeped as it finished its scan, and the Vector held it up and looked at the screen. "I'm sorry, Christophe. But that bullet inside of you is what's sending that tracking signal."

Christophe had started to look paler, and sweat. Despite that, he found his voice. "Then… I guess you're going to have to take it out, huh?"

The Vector didn't answer, and instead looked at Cortes.

Cortes realised his crew had their eyes on him. They were waiting for his answer. "We, we can't! You said it yourself before, Vector. You're not a doctor; you can't just _cut_ that thing out of him!"

"I'm not a butcher either, Cortes. I only said we should leave it in because I was quite sure it wouldn't hurt Christophe to leave it in until we got home. But now I think the stakes are a little higher."

"But…"

"He's right, Aran," Christophe cut in. "What are you going to do? Lead that ship straight to Puerto Angel? Or to some other bloc for them to destroy? The Vector's right, we have to do this now."

"We _can't_," Cortes snarled. "It'd be inhumane!"

"Well, it's either that or toss me overboard. Either way you've got to get this thing off your ship. Or I'll be dead anyway, along with you, your crew, and Puerto Angel."

Cortes drew in a breath, then came and sat next to Christophe again. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Christophe shrugged, but Cortes could tell he was nervous. "Probably don't have much choice. I'll be fine. I've had worse…"

"Like?"

"Like… other stuff… can we just do this?"

Cortes paused, and then gave in. "Alright."

"I'll get ready," said the Vector. "Dahlia, Wayan, we might need your help."

"Someone needs to fly the ship…" said Wayan, standing up from his forward console.

"Cheng can do it," said Cortes.

"But I want to help!"

"You can help by flying the ship," said Cortes. "And… no matter what happens you just stay down there and fly it, alright?"

Cheng nodded, and ran down to the front of the ship, swapping places with Wayan.

"What do you want me to do?" Wayan asked.

"You and Cortes hold him down. Dahlia, you can help me," said the Vector. He now had the rest of the medical kit with him, and was checking to see exactly what was in it.

"Where do you want me?" Christophe asked. His voice had started to shake a little.

"Just lie down," said the Vector. "Get comfortable."

Christophe let out a short laugh, but did what he was told.

The Vector set down the medical kit next to the bench. "Okay, Wayan, hold down his legs. Cortes, hold him down up here, and make sure he can't move his arms." He got Cortes to sit behind Christophe's head, hugging his arms around Christophe's upper body and pinning down his arms.

Christophe looked up at him, a nervous grin tugging at his lips. "Hey…"

"You just hold still, okay?" Cortes snapped, trying to keep his own voice steady.

Wayan had sat down next to Christophe's legs and pinned one with each hand.

"Alright…" the Vector carefully removed the bandage from around Christophe's belly. The wound underneath had stopped bleeding. "I'm going to have to cut a bit, Christophe. Are you ready?"

"Figured as much. Yeah, I'm ready as I'll ever be…" Christophe looked away, squeezing a little bit tighter onto his brother's arms.

"Okay."

Dahlia handed the Vector a scalpel.

Cortes shifted his eyes, looking down more at his brother than what the Vector was doing.

Christophe jerked suddenly, letting out a grunt. Cortes could feel him grip on even tighter. He didn't move too much though, and they were able to keep him still.

"Hold the scanner where I can see it, Dahlia," said the Vector. "I want to get to this thing as quickly as I can. Okay…"

Cortes glanced up, just in time to see the Vector push his gloved fingers into the slice in Christophe's side. Blood seeped from the wound, but the Vector was ignoring it so it couldn't have been anything really wrong. Cortes shuddered and looked away.

Christophe shifted again and drew in a gasp. It couldn't have been too comfortable having the Vector push around his intestines.

"I think I can see it… hand me the scalpel again, Dahlia…"

Christophe shuddered, and really dug his hands into Cortes' arms.

"How're you doing Chris?" Cortes asked.

"… yeah…" Christophe gasped out, his eyes now squeezed tightly shut.

"Okay, Dahlia, hold that back… I'm going to try pull it out." The Vector took a pair of forceps, and pushed them into Christophe's belly next to Dahlia's hands. "Okay… nearly… got it…"

Something beeped and then made a soft whirring sound.

"Vector…" Dahlia started.

"ARAN!" Christophe suddenly jerked so violently Wayan was nearly flung off his legs. His whole body was trying to crunch into a ball.

"Shit…" muttered the Vector. "Wayan, keep him down!"

Wayan actually sat down on the man's legs this time, pinning him. Even so, he was having trouble. Christophe had been relatively quiet before, but now he couldn't seem to control himself.

"What happened?!" Cortes demanded.

Christophe pulled against him, and made Cortes look down. There was a lot more blood coming from his wound now, so much so that some had managed to seep up onto Cortes' jacket sleeves.

"Just keep him down!" the Vector snapped.

Dahlia still had her hands in the wound, gripping on determinedly despite Christophe throwing himself about. "You've got to get it now, Vector. Or you won't be able to."

"Aran…" Christophe almost sobbed.

"It's okay, I'm still here…" said Cortes through gritted teeth.

Christophe shuddered and stopped flailing as much. He drew in a breath and then slumped back against Cortes, his eyes closed.

"Vector…"

"Not now, Cortes…" the Vector replied firmly. He had the forceps back in the wound. "I'm just going to have to pull it out like this, Dahlia. Keep that back…" The forceps came back out, clutching something bloodied and metal in their jaws. The Vector dropped it in the metal tray beside him, and then ignored it. "Help me stop the bleeding, Dahlia…"

Cortes stared at the bullet. He'd expected something smooth. Instead, the bullet looked like a torpedo shaped porcupine. Small spines extended from the main body, gripping onto little bits of bloodied flesh. It couldn't have been like that when it went in, it would have done way more damage.

"What happened, Vector?" Cortes growled.

"Not…"

"Just tell me!" he snapped, hugging onto his unconscious brother tighter.

The Vector pushed a bandage against the bleeding, and looked up at Cortes. "We set it off, Cortes. It must have had some sort of tamper resistance. When I touched it, those spikes came out."

Cortes opened his mouth, but found himself lost for words. He looked down at Christophe. What if it had gone off so they couldn't get it out? He could see the blood on his jacket sleeves… what if it had still done too much damage, and…

Cortes squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second. Christophe had stopped gripping on so tight, but Cortes could still feel him drawing in shaking breaths. Did that mean he was alright? He glanced at the bullet again. Of course it didn't, that thing had gone off and practically shredded his insides!

"Alright," said the Vector after a few moments. "It looks… I'm pretty sure I've got this under control."

Cortes harrumphed. "I'd hate to see what out of your control was, Vector."

The Vector glanced at him briefly, but then turned his attention quickly back to Christophe.

Cortes squeezed his eyes shut for a moment again. Now wasn't the time for stuff like that. He carefully released his grip on Christophe and let him slide down onto the bed. He was unconscious; he didn't need holding down now. What he needed was rest.

He glanced across at the bullet the Vector had tossed in the metal tray and his eyes narrowed. He stood up, picked up the tray and marched towards the bridge door. He flung it open, stepped outside and flung the whole thing off the side of the ship. He watched it fall, the tray glinting as it caught the light before disappearing into the clouds below. Good riddance; he'd like to see Tristan follow them now.

Wayan stepped out the door behind him. "We could've used that…"

"I'd rather be rid of it."

"I doubt Tristan is going to believe the Saint Nazaire just plummeted out of the sky…" Wayan pointed out. "He'll know we found it."

Cortes growled. He hadn't thought of that. He really wasn't thinking straight. He glanced back through the open bridge door. Christophe still lay still. The Vector and Dahlia were still making sure he was okay. Cortes would just have to hope he'd pull through. "Well we'd better get out of there then…"

"Cortes…" Wayan placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him before he could go back onto the bridge. "I can get us moving again."

"Wayan, I'm fine…"

"Just thought you might want to change your jacket…" Wayan pointed down at Cortes' arms.

Cortes glanced down, and shuddered as he saw all the blood that had soaked into his sleeves. His brother's blood. He'd forgotten about that. He sighed. "Thanks, Wayan. Just get us out of here, as fast as you can."

Wayan nodded, and stepped back onto the bridge.


	4. Chapter 4

Cortes made his way down to his cabin, grabbed a spare jacket, and then headed down to one of the bathrooms. He'd have to wash his hands, and hopefully not waste too much water doing so.

He flung the clean jacket down on a bench, and then ripped off the jacket he wore and flung it far harder into the opposite corner. The sleeves of his undershirt were soaked with blood too. Cortes stared at them for a moment. Normally, blood wouldn't upset him this much. But it was Christophe's, and it reminded Cortes of how much his brother had been hurt. How could he loose that much and still be okay? Cortes gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, then tore the shirt off with a snarl, flinging it to join his jacket in the corner. He leaned on the sink in front of him, staring at the rust stained mirror for a moment as he tried to regain control over himself.

He sighed, then washed and dried his hands, trying to use as little water as possible, then threw back on the clean jacket. He'd have to go back past his cabin to pick up a shirt.

But then, the ship rocked suddenly.

Cortes put a hand against the doorframe to steady himself. It could have just been rough weather… but he was certain it wasn't. He ran up to the bridge. The Saint Nazaire rocked a second time before he made it there, nearly knocking him to the ground.

"What's going on!?" he demanded as he re-entered. Like he needed an explanation. The first thing he saw as he entered the bridge was Tristan's ship, following the Saint Nazaire along her port side.

As he spoke, a flash of light came from the Force Majeure's canons, and the Saint Nazaire again rocked, hard. And it didn't even look like those were the larger ship's main weapons.

"He's demanding to speak to you!" Wayan shouted from the pilot's seat.

"Right…" Cortes scowled. He jumped up onto the wheelhouse and activated the communication system from there. The sooner the better, maybe Tristan would stop firing on them, if only momentarily.

"Alright, I'm here!" he snarled as Tristan's face appeared on the screen.

Tristan smiled. "You think you can fool me, Cortes? Tell me, did you toss your brother overboard or…"

"You'll pay for what you did to him!" Cortes snapped back.

"You're outgunned, Cortes. But… I suppose I should congratulate you. Getting rid of the tracking device means I can't follow you to your home bloc. Your people are safe. So I guess I'll just have to settle for taking down your ship and everyone on it!"

"You'll do no such thing!" said Cortes.

"Won't I?" Tristan smirked.

"You want me, Tristan. Not my crew. They have nothing to do with this and neither does Puerto Angel. Let them go, and I'll…"

"Cortes!" Cheng exclaimed.

"Oh no, Cortes," said Tristan. "You can't get out of this the easy way. You're going to pay."

"It's no use arguing with him, Cortes," said the Vector.

Cortes scowled, and turned back to the communications. "We may be outgunned, Tristan, but that's nothing new. But if you're set on taking this ship, then it'll be over my dead body."

"Oh, please don't, Cortes," said Tristan. "I'd much rather you kept your self alive. At least, until I take out your crew." Tristan cut the transmission short.

Cortes tensed, and slammed a fist into the railing.

"Captain, he's powering up his weapons," Dahlia warned.

"Evasive manoeuvrers!" Cortes barked.

The Saint Nazaire dropped suddenly, weapons fire flying through the air space it had occupied seconds before.

The Force Majeure quickly followed.

"Keep us moving!" Cortes shouted. "We lost him before… we may be able to do it again. I'm not sure we can shoot him down…" he added in a low voice, only to himself.

"He's opening fire!" Cheng warned.

A micro second later a blast of energy skimmed past the Saint Nazaire on the starboard side, causing the ship to buck.

"Looks like that's his big guns…" muttered Wayan.

"We can't let him hit us with that weapon," Cortes warned, even as his mind churned over exactly how to accomplish that. The Saint Nazaire had taken damage, and the weapon hadn't even actually hit them.

"Cortes…" said Cheng. "That weapon he just used is recharging. I don't think he'll be able to use if for another minute or so."

Cortes gritted his teeth. Now, they had their chance. "Take us about. And open fire on that ship's main weapon. We need to take it out before it recharges."

"Aye, sir!" said Dahlia swinging the ship about.

The Saint Nazaire rocked again, though not as hard, hit by fire from the Force Majeure's secondary weapon systems. They couldn't withstand that for long either, but it was less of a risk than taking a hit from its primary weapon again.

"He's following out manoeuvre," Dahlia warned. She pulled against the Saint Nazaire's controls hard.

"I just need one clear shot…" said Wayan, concentrating intently himself.

Cortes gripped the Saint Nazaire's steering wheel, and hoped Wayan wasn't just being optimistic. They had no idea if that weapon had heavy armour or if it really was a weak spot.

"The weapons nearly recharged…" Cheng warned.

"I thought you'd said it'd take a few minutes to recharge?!" snapped Cortes.

"… well, give or take…" Cheng shrugged nervously.

Cortes looked back out the forward windows. The Force Majeure was there, slightly off to port, its main gun facing right at them. A slight glow was steadily building at the weapons tip.

"Wayan…" Cortes warned. Surely he had a clear shot now?!

"Nearly…" Wayan muttered. And then the Saint Nazaire's own main weaponry opened fire, hitting the other ship squarely in the almost charged main gun.

For a brief second, Cortes was afraid their attack had had no effect at all. But then there a brief flash at the guns tip, and then… nothing.

"We disabled the main gun!" Cheng exclaimed with a grin.

They had little time for celebration however, as the other ship immediately responded with a heavy barrage from its secondary weaponry.

"Evasive manoeuvres!" Cortes shouted again, and the Saint Nazaire again accelerated, dodging some of the weapons fire. Now, they might at least have a chance. "Head for that group of blocs!" said Cortes, catching sight of a cluster of small blocs barely a kilometre away.

The Saint Nazaire turned and accelerated, the Force Majeure following suit. They were in amongst the blocs in under a minute. The Saint Nazaire slowed, they couldn't risk damaging the ship on the blocs.

"Now," Cortes growled. "Let's create as much debris as we can."

The Saint Nazaire opened fire on blocs as it zipped past, breaking them into smaller and for more difficult to evade pieces.

"Cause as much damage as you can. Once we've made it too dangerous for the Force Majeure to keep up, we're getting out of here."

Suddenly the communications systems came alive. "Damn it, Cortes! You want to run away!? Turn back and fight me!"

"Scared we're going to get away?" Cortes countered. "You want to fight me? It can be arranged. But you after this ship and my crew in that massive ship of yours is just a risk I'm not willing to take."

"Risk… it's a convenient excuse, isn't it Cortes?"

Cortes bristled for a moment. "Sorry, Tristan. That's not going to work." He cut the transmission. "Get us out of here."

The Saint Nazaire began to speed up.

"Cortes…" said Cheng. "The Force Majeure is speeding up as well…"

"What?"

"He's taking heavy damage though, sir," said Dahlia, looking at her screen. "He's just ignoring the debris we left."

"Damn…" Cortes growled.

"His shields are almost down," said Wayan, "sir… he's on a collision course with the Saint Nazaire!"

The Force Majeure appeared to grow behind them. As it neared they could see pieces of blocs impacting on its hull, followed by flames and smoke. But still, the slightly larger ship advanced, as if the damage was having no effect at all.

But that was impossible. The ship would only be able to take so much.

"Wayan, Dahlia! Get us out of his way!" Cortes shouted.

The Saint Nazaire sped off again, diving into a downward spiral.

The Force Majeure attempted to follow. It dove, sluggishly, then hit a sizable bloc on its port engine. The whole engine exploded, rocking the ship to the side. It continued to drift under inertia.

The Saint Nazaire pulled out of its dive, and the larger damaged ship drifted past, heading downwards.

"Cortes!" the radio squawked. "I'll make you pay yet!"

"I suggest you concentrate on landing that thing without causing anymore damage, rather than worrying about me," Cortes snarled back into the radio. "Goodbye, Tristan." He cut the transmission before the other man could complain further. "Let's get out of here…" Cortes growled, watching the other ship disappear below the clouds.

"Aye, sir," Dahlia and Wayan responded. The Saint Nazaire levelled itself back out, and began to head back to Puerto Angel.

Cortes let out a long sigh. He then turned his attention back to the rear of the bridge. The Vector was still with Christophe; he'd been back there for the whole of the battle. Cortes stepped down off the wheelhouse, and made his way to them. "He didn't get shaken up too much by all that?" he asked.

The Vector shook his head. "No, I don't think so. He seems to be fast asleep anyway."

Cortes let out a sigh. "I don't blame him…" He stared at his brother for a moment more before he spoke again. "Vector… he is going to be alright, isn't he?"

"If he's as tough as you, I'm sure of it," the Vector replied.

Cortes glared at him. "I'd rather you gave me an honest answer, Vector."

The Vector sighed. "Don't worry, Cortes. It should only take us a few hours to get back to Puerto Angel. I'm fairly certain he can hang in there… he's still breathing normally, and he'll certainly be fine once the doctors take a look at him."

"I just… he's got to be okay…" Cortes muttered, almost to himself.

"Cortes…" said the Vector gently. "Maybe you should stay back here with Christophe. I'm sure the crew knows how to get back to Puerto Angel."

Cortes blinked. "I… yeah, alright."

The Saint Nazaire sped on its way, heading back to Puerto Angel as quickly as it could.

----

Cortes made his way along Puerto Angel's docks, heading to the bloc's hospital. It had been a few days since they'd arrived back with Christophe.

The first few hours after that had been an eternity for Cortes. Christophe had been taken into the hospitals surgery, and Cortes had spent the rest of that night half asleep in the hospitals waiting room – despite trying to stay awake. He'd startled himself awake a couple of times and in those first waking seconds had wondered whether the news his brother was gone had been reality, or just a dream.

But by morning he'd heard Christophe was going to be okay. Now, he was going to visit him, again. He couldn't remember how many times he'd been, fitting the visits in between his normal duties. He couldn't have imagined that after hating his brother for so long he'd want to just see him so often. Cortes supposed that Christophe nearly dying, along with all the sacrifices he'd made for him, had somehow gotten through all his stubborn walls and feelings.

When he got inside Christophe's room, he found his brother asleep. Cortes let out a sigh. At least he seemed like he was comfortable, and was sleeping well. Better than he had been on the Saint Nazaire.

He didn't have much to do for the next couple of hours, so Cortes sat himself down next to his brother. Then he wondered why he was bothering. After all, he could probably find something much more useful he could be doing. Christophe didn't need him to watch him sleep.

"You know, I do have to sleep sometimes," Christophe mumbled, blinking himself awake.

Cortes startled slightly. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Stop staring at me while I sleep, and I wouldn't. It's creepy," Christophe retorted with a small smile. "Don't worry, I was sleeping because I'm bored. Are you sure you can't convince these guys to let me out of here?"

"Positive," said Cortes. "Besides, I already ordered them not to let you get up until you were strong enough, no matter how much you complained."

"Typical…"

"How're you doing? Really?" Cortes asked.

Christophe pushed himself into a half sitting position, wincing slightly as he did so. "Alright. Just a bit sore. Hey, you planning on staying for awhile?"

"Yeah…"

"Good. It's just you've been in and out of here for the last couple of days, and sometimes you don't really stay that long, and…" Christophe paused momentarily, as if realising he was rambling. "Well, I just wanted to talk to you about something important."

Cortes frowned slightly. "Yeah, alright."

Christophe shifted himself slightly, trying to get comfortable, but really just organising his thoughts. "I guess nearly dying makes you think," he said eventually. "Because when you guys… pulled that thing out of me… I really thought I was going to die. And all the things I've done up to now. Trying to infiltrate the Sphere; everything I tried to do to gain their 'trust'. Well, it doesn't amount to much."

"Come on Christophe. You've saved my life more than once…" Cortes cut in, trying to lift his brother's spirits.

"Hey, I didn't say it was a total loss," Christophe said with a small smile. "And I wasn't done yet. I could've dealt with that, I guess. It isn't like I haven't enjoyed it. But… look when I left at Ronston…"

Cortes blinked at the battle's mention, turning away slightly.

It didn't escape Christophe's attention. "Aran, please, just hear me out."

Cortes sighed, and forcibly turned his attention back to Christophe. "It's okay. I… I'm listening."

"Look, back then I thought I was going to make some great difference. It never turned out that way, I know. And 'betraying' the Sphere by blowing up the Callisto blew all chance of it ever working. Not that," he quickly clarified, "I would hesitate to do that all over again.

"I still stand by what I was trying to do at Ronston, but perhaps I went about it the wrong way. I know you felt betrayed when I left you like that, with no warning. I guess I thought it was okay because my intentions were right, but…" Christophe paused, looking to Cortes for some response. Cortes gave none, just staring at his brother as if waiting for him to finish.

Christophe sighed. "Look, when I nearly died back there on the Saint Nazaire, all I could think was I was going to die with my little brother still mad at me. I guess that was when I realised that wasn't your fault. Aran, whatever reason I had doesn't matter now; I'm sorry for leaving you at Ronston. It wasn't my intention to hurt you."

Cortes turned away, unable to look at his brother for a moment, though he knew the other man was now staring at him intently, awaiting his response.

"Aran…"

Cortes shook his head, and forced himself to look at Christophe. "I heard you, I…" He paused, unsure of what to say. He'd just realised that that was what he'd been waiting for Christophe to say. All those years he'd been mad at him, and couldn't seem to understand why he was holding onto his anger. He'd just wanted Christophe to acknowledge what he'd done. Suddenly, it was a whole lot easier to let that anger go. "It's okay, I'm not mad at you. Not anymore." He let out a sigh and looked away again.

Christophe reached out a hand and gripped his brother's. "Good."


End file.
